


shoot twice for yes

by shatteredhourglass



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Assassin Clint Barton, Bodyguard Bucky Barnes, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Idiots in Love, M/M, Multi, POV Bucky Barnes, Pining, Tony's Just... Tony, Top Tony Stark, Wing Grooming, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25186261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredhourglass/pseuds/shatteredhourglass
Summary: The next time Steve recommends him for a bodyguard job, Bucky's going to fight him for it. Even if he does need the money.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 109
Kudos: 526
Collections: Charity Hawktion 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wiggle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiggle/gifts).



> This is actually my first winterironhawk fic! I need more of them, they're fun to work with. This was great fun. Hope you like it, Wiggle!

“Barnes, huh,” the security guy says, looking over his ID. “First day on the job?”

Bucky doesn’t deign to reply to that. He’s using all of his willpower not to pace around the tiny office room, and he keeps glancing through the tiny glass window in the door to make sure no one creeps up on him. The guard hands his ID back and he nearly snatches it out of the man’s hand, manages to keep himself _somewhat_ calm.

“What kind of job are you doing for Mister Stark, anyway? Meeting didn’t say.”

“It’s,” Bucky says, and his voice comes out rusty with disuse. “It’s, uh. Classified.”

“Right. Do you have any weapons on your person?”

“...yes?”

Credit to him, the guard doesn’t seem particularly shocked. To be fair, Bucky looked in the mirror this morning - he knows he looks like he’s about to murder someone, scowl set on his face and wings puffed just enough to be intimidating. He _likes_ looking that way. A lot of people avoid the guy with the murder stare and that’s what he wants.

“In the tray,” the man says as he pushes it over.

Bucky pulls out two handguns from his waistband and sets them down in the tray. Then he retrieves the extra ammo out from his coat pockets, and the bowie knife that sits in the small of his back. A set of brass knuckles joins them after a second, and he also puts in a taser that he keeps for special occasions.

By now the security guard is looking more alarmed and Bucky steps back neatly, waits for him to take the tray. He’s eyeing off Bucky like he’s a bomb about to go off and Bucky looks at the poster behind him, tries to figure out what the StarkTech Cube does. Bucky’s not familiar with a lot of this new-fangled technology but it _is_ interesting, if nothing else.

“Okay,” the guard says. “Here’s your card, take the elevator on the left side, tell the robot voice who you are and it’ll take you to the meeting room.”

“Robot voice?”

“You’ll figure it out. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, doesn’t mention that he’s still got a knife hidden in his boot. He’d have to be naive to give the man _all_ his weapons, and he’s a lot of things but he ain’t that.

The walk to the elevator is uneventful. The elevator itself is ridiculous; some kind of futuristic, glass thing with soft white lights glowing on the floor and the ceiling. It feels like he’s a goldfish stuck in an expensive bowl, and he’s kind of desperate to get out even though he’s only just walked in.

Bucky’s still trying to figure out if he’s made a huge mistake in taking on this job.

_“Good evening,”_ a voice says above him, and Bucky’s hand snaps to where his gun used to be. _“How may I help you today?”_

Robot voice. Right. “I, ah. I’ve got a meeting with Tony Stark?”

“ _Hm,”_ the voice says, is silent for a moment. “ _Mister Barnes?”_

“That’s me.”

_“Welcome to Stark Tower, Mister Barnes. I am JARVIS. We will be going to the penthouse suite for your meeting with Sir.”_

Penthouse, huh. Not a meeting room. Bucky tries not to look too nervous about that - god knows if the magical robot voice can tell he’s getting worried. He isn’t planning on giving anything away if it can. He tucks his hand into his pocket instead, puts on a false-casual face as the elevator starts moving.

“So, uh,” he says. “What’s he like? Stark, I mean.”

“ _Sir is… a unique presence,”_ comes the reply, which isn’t much of an answer. The dry humour in the voice is oddly amusing though.

The elevator dings and the door slides open.

Bucky thinks about leaving. He hasn’t been paid yet. Hasn’t even met his new boss, it wouldn’t matter if he just escaped. Maybe he’s not ready for this after all. It’s a little late for that now, unfortunately, and he’s pretty sure the robot voice would notice if he tries to vault out a window or run down a staircase.

He takes a deep breath and walks into the wide, white room.

There’s a grimy-looking man with remarkably pristine black wings, fiddling with the air-conditioning unit in the corner, muttering to himself about things Bucky has no hope of understanding. He’s once again relieved that his job is just to punch people without any thinking required.

No sign of the guy he’s supposed to meet, though.

What kind of a sociopath has all-white furniture? He drops down on a couch gingerly, lets his wings fan out so he doesn’t accidentally sit on his feathers. The cleaning for this place must be ridiculous. Good thing Tony Stark is the richest man in New York, because otherwise this would be more mad than it is already. Bucky hopes he doesn’t have any mud on his clothes.

“God, I hate rich people,” he says under his breath.

“Me too,” the air-conditioning man says. “Especially that Tony Stark guy. What an asshole.”

Bucky glances over at him. The man’s got a smear of grease on his forehead and his AC/DC shirt looks old enough to evaporate. “You know him?”

“Wish I didn't,” the man answers, gets to his feet and wipes his hands off on his pants before offering one to Bucky. “Probably because I _am_ him. You’re Barnes, I take it?”

_This_ is Tony Stark? “I - what?”

Tony sighs and lets his hand drop, sits in the couch opposite Bucky. He does indeed get grease on the white fabric and Bucky cringes, but clearly Tony doesn’t give a shit. Now he’s directly in Bucky’s eyeline it gets so much weirder because this man is apparently a high-class rich boy and also a dirty mechanic.

At least the mechanic aesthetic works with his wings. Bucky tries to ignore other people’s, most of the time, but Tony’s are sleek and dark and a little mesmerizing. He shifts and the sunlight catches off them, a soft rainbow sheen over the top of each feather like an oil spill. Suitable, considering. It’s definitely unique.

“I assume you’re here because you’re willing to take on the job,” Tony says.

“I’d rather know what the job was, first,” Bucky answers. “You didn’t explain it that well. Someone’s trying to kill you?”

Tony lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe. There’s been some evidence of foul play. Best not to take the risk, right? And people say you’re one of the best.”

“Is _people_ Steve Rogers?”

“How’d you know?”

Fucking Steve. Bucky loves him like a brother, but why’s he got to stick his nose in everything? Nosy bastard. Bucky doesn’t need his help getting jobs, he’s doing just fine on his own without catering to the guy with the biggest eyesore of a building in the city. Bucky must make a face because Tony raises an eyebrow curiously but he doesn’t ask when Bucky doesn’t elaborate.

“I’m going to need a copy of your schedule so I know when and where to be,” he says. “And my weapons.”

“I can give you both of those,” Tony says. “But first there’s a… problem. Not a problem, a stipulation. Is that what you normally wear when you’re on duty?”

Bucky looks down at his black tactical gear, underneath his coat. He can’t find anything wrong with it. “Yes?”

“See, the problem is this. You _look_ like a guy who gets paid to beat up people,” Tony says, leaning forward. “I don’t want whoever’s after me to know I’m onto them, and I _definitely_ don’t want them to know I’ve hired a bodyguard. That’s why I contacted a completely unknown guy with a mysterious background instead of a security firm.”

“Alright,” Bucky says, a little dubious. “I can guard you from another building with a decent vantage point - my rifle skills are good, I can-”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Tony interrupts. “I was thinking maybe I magically acquire a nice new boyfriend who I like toting around to show off at all the events I go to, and he stays right by me without raising any suspicion.”

“You… want me to be your boyfriend?”

“I want you to be my fake boyfriend,” Tony corrects.

Right.

Bucky should’ve jumped out that window after all.

“You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Bucky says flatly.

_Here_ happens to be a nearly-empty coffee shop in Brooklyn. Bucky’s been here a thousand times and he never gets quite used to the inches of grease on each table. The coffee’s hot and the fries are fantastic and there’s never a crowd though, so Bucky’s not inclined to change his favourite spot. He fits in here.

Tony Stark does not. He’s traded in the greasy mechanic look for a suit that probably costs more than Bucky’s ever spent in his life. Bucky kind of hates it. He’s got to admit it looks pretty damn good, but only in the depths of his mind, not out loud.

“Good,” Tony says, waves a hand at the waitress. “Give me the most unhealthy burger you’ve got and a chocolate milkshake. You having anything, Barnes?”

Bucky gestures to his cup of coffee without commenting.

The waitress walks off once she’s written down the order and Tony leans back in his seat, watches Bucky. “Probably shouldn’t call you by your surname if we’re supposed to be going out. What do you prefer? James? Jim? Jimbo? Jimmy?”

“If you call me Jimmy I’m walking out of here and you'll never see me again,” Bucky says. “James is fine.”

“Alright, James it is. So you’re onboard with this?”

“I’m considering it,” Bucky says. “Don’t know why you’d think this is a good idea, but I’m considering it.”

“Well, in any case, here’s your paycheck upfront,” Tony replies, sliding a slip of paper over the table. It gets stuck in the grease and Bucky has to peel it off with the nails on his right hand, tug it up and inspect the messy scrawl on the front.

Oh.

That’s… a lot of zeroes.

“I’ll get my bags,” Bucky says. And sure, he was already planning on doing this because he hasn’t had a decent job since he lost the arm but the money sure does sweeten the deal. Especially that _much_ money. His heart might’ve stopped for a second.

“Great,” Tony says. “I’ll set up a spare room in the penthouse for your stuff. And seriously, don’t dress like you’re on the hunt.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Bucky answers.

He really doesn’t.

Tony doesn’t seem particularly concerned about his lack of comprehension. His food chooses that moment to arrive, and the waitress has included a serve of fries for Bucky with it. Bucky slides her a bigger tip than usual - may as well, if he’s getting paid as well as this check says he is.

Tony tucks into the food like he hasn’t been fed in weeks.

Bucky’s kind of concerned, honestly.

“So,” Tony says through a mouthful of cheese and meat. “Tell me about yourself. I know you’re upsettingly hot, own way too many knives, and you think this whole cool guy in leather thing is working, but who am I dating?”

“I-” Bucky starts, and then feels his face heat up as he realizes Tony just called him _hot_. He’s got barbecue sauce on his nose. “Are you gonna be like this the whole time?”

“Mhm. Yep.”

Oh, god. Think of the money.

“Now _that_ is an improvement.”

Bucky looks down at the soft blue sweatshirt he’s wearing. It was a gift from Maria; they did a secret santa exchange one year back when they were all working together, and it’s one of two items of clothing he owns that is not black. (It’s also baggy enough to conceal his weapons.)

He’s taken the ‘don’t look like a bodyguard’ instruction as best he can. It’s impossible to change some things but he’s covered the left arm in a sleeve that makes it look like skin and meat instead of cold steel, and he’s tied his hair up in a loose ponytail, even smeared a few drops of multicoloured paint on his jaw and pants to support the lie that he’s a local artist.

(Steve’s rambling about Monet comes in handy. He’s got enough knowledge to back it up.)

“Uh huh,” Bucky says. “Where are we going?”

“We have to be seen in public being lovey-dovey together, so… hang on.”

Bucky stiffens as fingers brush his wings. His knee-jerk reaction is to break Tony’s hand for it, but he can’t do that. Think of the money. Instead he grits his teeth and tries to distance himself from the sensation of someone else touching the twisted feathers against his back. It’s _weird_. He hates it. His heart is beating a million miles an hour.

No one’s touched him like this in years.

No one else is ballsy enough to try, and maybe there’s something to be said about Tony Stark’s lack of fear towards Bucky.

“You had a-” rather than elaborating with words, Tony holds up his finger, which has a piece of shredded paper attached to it. That was _it?_

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Thanks?”

Tony’s now casting a considering look over his shoulder though, and it puts Bucky on edge even more. He feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin with nerves - his wings are tucked as tight against his back as they can be, but considering the tertiary feathers reach down to his calves it’s not much of a hiding spot.

“Those are a mess,” Tony says. “Like. Seriously. You want some help with them?”

“You’re offering to _groom_ me?”

“We _are_ supposed to be in a relationship, Jamesy. Anyway, it reflects badly on me if you go out like that. Makes it look like I’m neglecting you. I'll make it good.”

“I-” Bucky starts, stops. He’s probably right, but-

Tony’s phone chooses that moment to let out the first few bars of TNT blast out into the world. Bucky very bravely does not flinch at the loud noise even though he’s buzzing with anxiety, and Tony glances at him curiously before he reads whatever’s on the display.

“Alright, I gotta go downstairs for a sec,” he says. “Why don’t you take a minute to unpack?”

“I have to come with you,” Bucky reminds him.

“Oh. Yeah, okay. Come on then.”

Bucky lets out a tiny sigh of relief.

“Want to hold hands?”

“I… ugh, fine,” he says, ignores the weird squirming in his stomach when Tony’s rough hands curl around his.

“So, let’s get down to business,” Tony says cheerfully. “What’re we doing today, boys?”

“We have several orders of business,” a stressed-looking young man says, from his spot in the corner where he looks like he’s being slowly swallowed by stacks of paper. He starts flailing through the sheets of paper trying to find whatever it is he’s looking for and it’s vaguely worrying, from an outside perspective. Can an employee get lost in their own paperwork?

“Who’s your… friend, Tony?”

“This is my boyfriend, James,” Tony says without missing a beat, kicking his feet up onto the desk. “We’re getting serious, so I figure I’d introduce him to what I do around here.”

Bucky offers a small wave and tries to contort his face into something more comfortable. The bald man who asked about him is giving Bucky an expression that’s somewhere between a welcoming smile and a murderous grin. It’s unsettling as all hell. Did the guy eat a lemon? Bucky decides to dislike him just because he can.

“Are you sure you want young James here delving into things right away? We could find him some information pamphlets to look at instead.”

“He’s fine,” Tony says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Has he signed a non-disclosure agreement? Given the work we do here, it’d be-”

“One, we’re not doing anything that we need to hide from anyone,” Tony says, “and two, if you can’t trust the man in your bed, who can you trust? You’re fine, aren’t you, James?”

“I’m great,” Bucky says. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“Good,” Tony says, tips his face up towards Bucky. It’s like he’s waiting for something, and - oh, _yeah_. They’re supposed to be in a relationship, so it makes sense that they do relationship things.

This is what he’s being paid for. It doesn’t make the squirming in Bucky’s stomach go away as he leans down, lets his eyes flutter shut for a second as his mouth meets Tony’s. The kiss is short, just a quick press and then he leans back again, but Bucky’s still a little bewildered by how _soft_ Tony’s lips are.

“Alright!” Tony says. “The sooner we get to work, the sooner we break for lunch. Let’s hear what you’ve got for us.”

It’s mean to dislike someone based on their accumulated wealth, Bucky reminds himself. It’s unreasonable and rude, and he doesn’t know what goes on in their life beyond the scope of his own existence.

But fuck, he _hates_ rich people.

He’s ignored most of what the people here are saying in favour of scanning the windows and doors for security breaches. There’s nothing. There’s been nothing at all since he’s been here to suggest an attempt on Stark’s - Tony’s life at all, and Bucky’s puzzled by it. Maybe they’ve figured out that Bucky isn’t actually Tony’s boyfriend.

Bucky’s doing his best.

It’s… uncomfortable. He’s draped across Tony’s lap despite the awkward size difference, still holding hands with Tony’s thumb stroking idly across the back of his hand. The rich people (he can’t be bothered learning their names and he doesn’t care) are swirling their wine around and smelling it. Whatever’s going on in their lives, Bucky doesn’t give a shit.

He’s trying not to have feelings about the way Tony’s touching him.

The woman sitting on their right seems to have some kind of a thing for staring at him. It feels like she’s contemplating eating him alive, and Bucky’s not a fan of stabbing a woman because she’s giving him the creeps but he’s considering it right now.

“You’ve snagged yourself a cute one, Tony,” she purrs. “Where do I find myself a cute toyboy like this?”

“Maybe if you set up a wanted poster,” Tony says. "Hot men, no standards, call today."

“I thought maybe you’d share yours? You _do_ spend a lot of time working. Perhaps I could… entertain him.”

Even if Bucky was not very much against _entertaining_ women in the first place, he would not want to entertain this woman. Good god. He’s going to leave and let Tony get killed if he agrees to this deal, or humours this woman in any way. No amount of money is worth this.

“Sorry, I don’t share,” is what Tony says, though. It’s the flattest than Bucky’s heard him sound, and even though when Bucky checks he’s still smiling easily, there’s a threatening tinge to the air now. His wings are arched above them like a looming shadow and his hand tightens slightly on Bucky’s and Bucky-

Yeah, he doesn’t know how to feel about this. His stomach’s doing that weird thing again.

“How come we’ve never heard about you before now, James?”

“I, ah,” Bucky answers slowly. “I’m not so good with people.”

“Artists are usually like that, aren’t they? Mysterious creatures.”

“Sure are,” Tony says. “Took me weeks to even get him to come to the Tower.”

That’s actually true. But it’s also because Tony’s secretary kept texting a burner phone he’d already ditched. Shit happens and to be fair, Bucky thought this job was a hoax for the first few days.

“I’m glad that he did,” the woman says, giving him a look.

“And now we have to go,” Tony says abruptly. “My apologies, we have an art exhibition to go to.”

“Thank you,” Bucky mutters to him as they walk around the room, to the protests of the people still inside.

“They’re insufferable. What makes you think I did it for you?"

They end up in the basement of the Tower later that night.

Tony wakes up in the middle of the night with an idea already forming in his brain, and Bucky takes his crossword with him. Whatever threat is after the man, Bucky doubts they’ll get past the security of the underground level without alerting him first. He can afford to have his attention diverted for the few seconds it takes to figure out what the answer to two down, eight letters is.

None of the machinery down here makes any sense to Bucky. He doesn’t even know how his left arm works, not really. It’s cool, he can admit that much, but engineering isn’t his strong point. He’s happier just punching people and finding security flaws. And doing his crosswords, of course.

Tony settles in at his crowded workbench and Bucky drops onto the couch nearby, kicks his feet up on the arm. It’s more comfortable than he’s been in days - he sits on the floor when he watches Tony’s room at night, and most of his time is spent standing or sitting on upsettingly expensive furniture.

This couch couldn’t have cost more than twenty bucks. Bucky decides it’s his new favourite place.

Tony tinkers for a while, and then he must decide that the silence is unacceptable. “Do you ever sleep?”

“Do you?”

“...yeah, okay, fair. Still. You sleep even less than I do. I don’t think I’ve seen you close your eyes once since you got here.”

“I’m being paid to guard you,” Bucky says, crossing out the clues for seven, up. “Can’t do that if I’m unconscious.”

“You don’t get tired?”

“Not as much as you’d think. Anyway, if you die I don’t get paid,” Bucky replies. He glances up to find Tony looking at him, something weirdly intense in his expression that Bucky can’t quite decipher. “What?”

“Nothing. Go back to your crossword, grandpa,” Tony says, turning back to the stack of wires and screws on his desk.

Bucky’s actually finished with this particular puzzle, so he closes his book and sets it on the ground where he won’t stand on it. It’s gotta be one or two in the morning, and while there’s no windows down here the air feels calmer at this time, quiet.

Tony’s humming something under his breath as he works, and despite his complaints apparently Bucky’s getting used to the company because he finds himself relaxing against the patchy fabric of the couch. He also doesn’t sleep around the people he’s guarding because they make him nervous - and Tony _does_ make him nervous, usually, but there’s something about dirty-mechanic Tony Stark specifically that’s disarming.

He’s just going to chill out for a second.

Just a second.

He opens his eyes to a robot trying to give him a pillow.

More accurately, the pillow hits him in the face and _that’s_ what wakes him up. It’s startling enough that his wings flap out from where they’re tucked against his back, bump the robot and nearly knock it over. It beeps at him once and then drops the pillow before trundling off.

Bucky glances at the clock and realizes he’s been asleep for a solid four hours. Shit. What kind of a bodyguard falls asleep on the job?

Luckily Tony hasn’t moved an inch from where he was sitting _before_ Bucky fell asleep, but still.

“Have you taken a break at _all_?”

“Why d’you care?” Tony asks, swivels around in his chair.

The dark circles under Tony’s eyes are big enough to eclipse the sun. There’s cans of Red Bull strewn all around the area and a pot of coffee steaming gently in the corner. No sign of food other than a small tub that once housed blueberries, and Bucky’s pretty sure Tony hasn’t eaten properly for the last twelve hours.

Somehow his wings are still immaculate.

Bucky tucks his own tight against his body again.

“Take a break, Stark,” Bucky instructs.

“I’m busy,” Tony says distractedly, swiveling around again.

Bucky sighs. It’s probably hypocritical to force Tony to sleep when he doesn’t like doing it himself, but Tony doesn’t _have_ to stay awake. Besides, his job is to keep Tony alive, and the biggest threat to Tony Stark right now appears to be Tony Stark himself. Bucky scrubs a hand over his face and looks around, tries to figure out some way to get him in bed.

“What if you take a quick nap,” he tries when he notices there’s a mattress tucked in one corner. “Couple of hours, and then you can go back to what you’re doing.”

“You’re as bad as Pepper. I thought I hired a fake boyfriend, not a babysitter.”

“Whatever,” Bucky says, off-kilter from his nap and affronted by the concept of being a babysitter. He has an _adult_ job now. “Look, have some food at least.”

“Food doesn’t get delivered down here,” Tony replies absently.

“If I go upstairs to get something, will you at least eat it?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Maybe.”

He’ll take it.

Bucky levers himself off of the couch with some effort, tries to half-heartedly fix his hair. The plates of his left hand get caught on the strands instead and he winces, tugs at it. He loses a few hairs to the removal. Ugh, whatever. Tony’s gone back to working so he doesn’t even _notice_ Bucky’s dilemma.

“Lock the place up while I’m gone,” he instructs. “Highest security you can do.”

“Barnes, I’m not-”

“ _I already have the correct measures in place, Mister Barnes.”_

“Now you’ve got the robots against me,” Tony grumbles.

“Good,” Bucky says as he walks off. “You need a whole team on your ass.”

The elevator is silent.

It’s the first silence he’s had since he got here, and it’s glorious. Bucky lets out a quiet sigh and leans against the back of the elevator, lets his eyes close again briefly. It’s a lot to deal with, even when the deal is sweetened by all that money in his bank account. He isn’t used to being around people this often, regardless of how he’s starting to feel about them.

Tony’s… not as bad as he expected.

Bucky wishes that whoever wants to kill him would make the attempt already so they could be done.

Honestly, the hardest part of this job so far is remembering not to _feel_ things when Tony touches him. He doesn’t know if it’s attraction or disgust, some unnameable squirming sensation in his stomach every time a hand brushes against his, or when he thinks about the scratch of Tony’s goatee against his face.

Ugh. He’s doing it again.

For a second Bucky thinks that weird clinking noise is his own faulty brain, and then the elevator grinds to a halt. He glances to the side and sees the display informing him that he’s between the first floor and the second.

That’s not good.

“JARVIS?”

“ _There appears to be an unidentified object in the elevator shaft,”_ is the reply. “ _Security cameras are also disabled._ ”

Uh oh.

The hatch on top of the elevator cracks open.

Bucky sees the flash of black and purple out of his eye too slow, manages to get his left hand up a sheer millisecond before hard steel hits it and bounces off. He’s quick enough to dodge the boot that follows, ducks down into a crouch and spares a glance at the instrument on the ground as a dark shape drops into the elevator with him.

It’s an arrow.

The attacker swings a bow at him and Bucky grabs it, uses the momentum to tug it behind him. A solid, warm body hits his and Bucky tosses the bow aside, grabs their wrists and pins them to the cold glass wall. He’s pretty sure he only gets away with it because they let him.

Now they’ve stopped, he can see freckles on tanned cheeks, butterfly stitches on one eyebrow and scruffy blond hair, speckled brown feathers arched out against the glass and steel. He’s breathing fast and so is his companion as they stand there pressed up against one another.

“Barton,” Bucky says.

“Barnes,” Clint returns with a sideways grin. He twists out of Bucky’s hold easily, shoves him down onto the cold elevator floor.

Bucky hits the floor with a soft thump. It doesn’t hurt enough to complain about, and especially not when Clint comes with him, settles on his lap and then leans down to kiss him. It’s so familiar that he melts into it automatically, parts his lips for the sure swipe of Clint’s tongue.

His body’s still pumping with adrenaline from the suddenness of it all and he rolls them over again, catches Clint’s hips and holds him against the floor without missing a beat.

“I missed you,” he breathes against Clint’s mouth. It's - too much of a confession.

“Good,” Clint says, fingers tugging at the fine strands of hair at the back of Bucky’s neck. “Makes the welcome back sex better.”

As weird as it is, it’s more normal than this whole venture as Tony’s fake boyfriend is.

Bucky decides the best route is to keep kissing Clint so there's no more talking.

It's more desperate than he normally is when Clint appears, but he needs it. It's not like Clint cares. All the fake shit sinks away and he’s just Bucky, just a messy guy who protects people for money to make up for the people he killed for free, wearing his black clothes and kissing an on-again off-again assassin who’s seen the worst of him and decided random sexual encounters are a good idea anyway.

It feels so good being _normal_ again.

“ _Mister Barnes, should I call emergency services?_ ”

“Nah,” Bucky answers distractedly. “I’ll handle it.”

“You’ll _handle_ it alright. Hey, I don’t think we’ve ever fucked in an elevator before,” Clint says. His face is a little flushed and his wings are sprawled out wide against the floor. They’re too big to fit, really, enormous, gorgeous things that tangle and bump up against Bucky as he tries to get them comfortably situated.

“You’re testing me, Barton,” Bucky mutters, but he still kisses Clint again, lets his fingers trail down the rough vest down to the noticeable tent in his pants.

“Food took a while,” Tony remarks. He’s not working anymore.

Instead he’s sitting with his arms crossed like he’s been waiting for Bucky to walk in, and all of a sudden Bucky feels like a teenager that’s been caught sneaking out of the house. It can’t be obvious what he’s been doing; he’d checked himself in the surface of the door and he’d looked more or less the same as he had when he’d left.

There’s no way Tony could know.

It doesn’t matter anyway.

“There. Eat,” Bucky says, dropping the paper bag on the desk, out of the mess of metal parts.

“Nah,” Tony says. “Think I’m gonna take that nap after all.”

“Couldn’t you have decided that _before_ I went upstairs to get you something? Christ, Stark. I swear you’re doin’ this on purpose.”

“I’m not paying you to complain,” Tony says, and it’s still in the same tone of voice he always speaks in but the words still sting a little. It’s… _mean_ , almost, and Bucky would be fine with it if Tony hadn’t been overly friendly the whole time he’s been here.

Bucky wants to ask what the fuck that’s about, but. Well. It doesn’t matter, does it? He’s right. Bucky’s not being paid to do anything except play nice and shoot anyone that looks like a threat. He’s not being paid to be Tony’s friend, or to have an opinion on anything.

Tony drops on the mattress and pulls a blanket over himself, his back to Bucky. Alright, if that’s how it’s going to be, Bucky’s at least getting some food out of this venture. He grabs the slice of apple pie out of the bag and fishes around for the plastic fork, thinking about what he’s going to do with all that money he’s being paid.

Maybe get another motorcycle - he hasn’t had once since he lost the arm, even when it was replaced. He wonders if Clint would want to have sex on it. Probably, knowing how Clint is. Should get a nice red accent on it. He wonders if Tony likes motorbikes.

It doesn’t matter if he does, really. Once this job is over they’ll never see each other again.

Maybe he could get his own place and convince Clint to stay for more than five minutes. Bucky’s been mostly into one-night stands since he got back on American soil, but that’s mostly because he’d been rattled and unable to put up with the idea of someone in his space that wasn’t Steve.

He’s gotten better since then. (He hopes he has, anyway.)

Clint’s an exception to the rule, anyway.

“ _Mister Barnes,_ ” JARVIS says. “ _Mister Stane is upstairs. He wishes to speak with Sir._ ”

“He can book a damn meeting at a reasonable like everyone else,” Bucky mutters back.

“ _Very well, Mister Barnes._ ”

Tony remains in a shitty mood for the entire day; Bucky would blame it on the lack of sleep but Tony seems to _always_ be running on the minimum amount of hours rest.

There’s still a small amount of hand-holding and he gets a kiss on the cheek during lunchtime, but something about it feels cold. Tony doesn’t speak to him at all when they’re alone and Bucky’s confused by it, if not a little hurt. (There’s no reason for him to be hurt by it, he’s actually getting some real peace for once.)

It’s obvious something’s wrong though, so when they get up to the penthouse at the end of the night and Tony slams shut the bedroom door in his face without saying anything, Bucky kicks it open again.

Tony flinches.

Bucky’s too pissed off to care. “What the fuck, Stark?”

“ _What_? You’re the one breaking my doors down for no reason, Barnes.”

“Alright, we’re talking about this,” Bucky says. “What crawled up your ass and died, huh? You were fine before this morning. Now you’re acting like a dick."

“Fine. You want to know what my problem is?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Bucky answers, exasperated. He stays where he is as Tony stalks over to the computer on his desk, starts typing something in. Is it Google? Have StarkTech stocks gone down or some shit? Bucky’s not equipped to console Tony over something like that.

Instead Tony shoves the screen in his face and Bucky’s confronted with a crispy-clear photo of Clint’s lips parted in an ecstatic moan, halfway through moving so he can push his dick into the heat of Bucky’s mouth. The Bucky in the photograph has his eyes closed and his pants down around his knees, one hand tangled in Clint’s mess of feathers and the other out of view of the camera, although Bucky knows it’s wrapped around his own dick.

It’s. Very damning, for sure.

“JARVIS said the security cameras were disabled,” he says, unable to tear his eyes away from Clint’s fingers pulling at his hair. It had stung _so good_ , and he gets distracted until Tony snatches the laptop from him.

“The _security_ cameras were disabled,” Tony says. “Not the personal cameras I keep for emergency surveillance.”

“Were you watching me? What the _fuck_."

“I was making sure no one tried to get rid of my _bodyguard_ to get to me,” Tony snaps. "I don't want you to die."

“I-” Bucky starts, stops. Why is Tony so _angry_ about this?

“This is fantastic,” Tony says, starting to pace around the room. “No, really, the tabloids are going to love this. Tony’s Stark’s boyfriend’s boyfriend. Surprise!”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Bucky answers defensively. “Wait, why does it matter? No one saw except for you, and you’re not going to go around showing it to people. Are you?”

“No,” Tony mutters.

“Then there’s no need for you to have a problem!”

“My problem is that we’re supposed to be dating and I don’t know who the fuck that guy in my elevator is!”

“...it’s _fake_ dating, Stark,” Bucky says. “We ain’t married. We’re not even in a real relationship. Did you forget that?"

Tony makes a disgruntled, frustrated noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t answer. It’s more emotion than Bucky’s expecting from him - it’s strange, is what it is, for him to be this upset over Bucky having sex with someone else when they don’t even sleep in the same bed. It also raises more questions; did Tony watch the whole thing?

If he took that screenshot, then he’d watched a fair amount of it. Did he watch Bucky press a tiny line of kisses up Clint’s thigh? Did he see Bucky goading Clint into leaving marks so there’d be something to touch and look at later? Did he notice, right before Clint left again, the way Clint had gently bumped his wings against Bucky’s, letting the feathers tangle and catch for just a second?

“What do you want here, Stark?”

“It doesn’t matter. Also, your boyfriend’s hiding in the vents. Shouldn't have made them big enough for humans,” Tony says. He lifts one hand and there’s a beep before the ceiling shifts and Clint falls from it, neatly dropping into a crouch with his bow in one hand. He’s covered in a fine layer of dust that shakes off his wings and onto the immaculate floors, gives them both a sheepish kind of look as he straightens up. 

“Hi,” Clint says to Tony.

Tony blinks at him, then looks at Bucky dubiously like he’s not sure what to do but he doesn’t want to let on. “Hi.”

Bucky glances at Clint, but he doesn’t seem particularly worried about being sprung. As Bucky watches he shakes out his wings, lets them spread out now that he’s got the room. Even messy and dirty it’s quite the sight, especially because Clint’s body language is pretty showy to begin with, and he catches Tony looking as well.

“Use the doors next time,” Tony tells him.

Clint tips his head to the side, all inquisitive interest. “I tried that. Your guards don’t like me.”

“That’s because they don’t like strangers with ancient weapons barging in,” Tony says, waving at Clint’s bow. “If you want to see your boyfriend while he’s supposed to be _my_ boyfriend, the least you can do is not fuck with my cameras.”

This whole thing sounds confusing when he puts it like that.

“We’re _not_ dating,” Clint says. “We just have sex on a semi-regular basis. And go out for lunch. And watch a lot of movies when we’re both in the same - Bucky, _are_ we dating?”

“I think both parties need to know they’re dating for it to count,” Bucky answers.

They frown at each other.

“Eh,” Clint says, shrugs and looks back at Tony. “Either way. You’re dating this guy now?”

“ _This guy_ ,” Tony repeats, sounding appalled. “Do you know who I am?”

“We’re just pretending to be so I can watch him without raising suspicion,” Bucky cuts in.

Clint nods thoughtfully. “Shame. He’s cute.”

“You know what? He can stay,” Tony says. “ _You_ never tell me I’m cute.”

Bucky presses his hand to his face and tries not to get a headache.


	2. Chapter 2

“This isn’t a normal arrow,” Tony says, lifting it up to the light.

“It’s a putty arrow,” Clint answers cheerfully. He takes it from Tony’s fingers and nocks it, carefully shoots it at one of the robots trundling past. The arrow connects and a pink goop explodes from it, immediately entangling the poor robot.

“Show me how you made it,” Tony demands.

The robot lets out a despondent trill and Bucky moves to free it, ignoring the two nerds playing with their toys. Bucky doesn’t even understand most of what they’re saying - something about motion sensors and chemical compounds. He’s starting to think this was a terrible mistake, letting the two of them meet. (Not that he’d had a say in the first place.)

The putty sticks to his fingers and when he tries to peel it off, it clings even more.

Uh oh.

The robot beeps at him and Bucky tries to yank his hands back. He’s not expecting the putty to pull back - or to be so strong, and he’s caught off-guard as it drags him forward. Now his front is _also_ stuck to the putty, and it’s seeped in through the holes in his button-up so he can’t even slip out of his shirt to escape.

“This one’s a boomerang arrow!”

“It comes back?”

“It comes back,” Clint affirms, sounding proud of himself and positively delighted that someone’s taken an interest. (Bucky doesn’t get the thing about arrows, and apparently Clint’s partner-in-crime Kate isn’t a fan of the boomerang.)

“Have you ever thought of making one with an EMP charge?”

“Got one here,” Clint says, and Tony hums approvingly. “Also got a confetti arrow for parties.”

Bucky’s hair is stuck to the putty now but he manages to turn his head to look at them. They’ve got their backs to him, Tony’s smaller wings curled up against Clint’s. They’re loose and comfortable against each other (nothing like the way Bucky keeps his out of the way, tight against his spine until it hurts.)

Bucky watches them turn towards each other and they’re so close their noses bump together.

Tony leans out of the way immediately but Clint just smiles real small at him, something faintly pleased in his expression. Bucky doesn’t really want to break up whatever’s going on there - it’s cute, funnily enough. It’s not like there’s a manual for how to feel about your fake boyfriend and your semi-regular hookup being friendly at each other.

“Uh, fellas,” he says because as nice as it is, he’s being slowly eaten by putty. “Little help here?”

Tony turns first and his eyes widen marginally before a smirk crosses his face.

Clint’s even less helpful to Bucky’s plight; he sees the lump of arms and metal and pink slime and snickers at him without lifting a hand to help.

Bucky sighs.

“Hey. Now Barton’s here you can take five minutes to wash that hair,” Tony says.

Bucky scowls at him.

“No, seriously. We’ve got a party on the thirtieth floor to make an appearance at, and it starts in two hours.”

“Parties aren’t safe,” Bucky says automatically. He’s right, though; crowds of people are a nightmare when you’re trying to prevent anyone getting close enough to harm the guy you’re supposed to protect. It’s a mess he’d rather avoid if given the chance, although Tony doesn’t seem interested in granting him this small mercy.

“We don’t have a choice,” Tony tells him. “They’re showing the new line of StarkTech alarm systems and I have to be there.”

“Can’t Pepper go instead?”

“Pepper _is_ going,” Tony says. “But if I go as well, it makes the team look good. Tony Stark-approved will get them a long way with the people they need to impress tonight, and they’ve been working hard on this for years. We’re going. Non-negotiable.”

Bucky lets out a sigh and Clint looks up from where he’s trying to subtly cover up a smear of dirt with a throw pillow, purses his lips thoughtfully.

“I can guard him for a while,” Clint agrees. “You’ve got a little… something, in your hair. Might want to get it out if you’re going partying.”

Bucky reaches up to touch his hair. His fingers come away sticky with the pink putty and he scowls at Clint, who just grins back. Maybe a shower isn’t a terrible idea. And it’s not like he doesn’t trust Clint - aside from with himself, the only person he’d trust for this kind of job would be Clint. (It’s funny, considering Clint’s job is the _opposite_ of keeping people alive.)

“Unless you want us to watch you shower,” Clint adds with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

It’s clearly a joke, but Bucky catches the way Tony turns his head sharply to look at Clint like he has to make sure it's not serious. To be fair, Bucky's pretty sure Clint _is_ hitting on Tony, and he would absolutely watch Bucky shower.

“Leaving now,” Bucky says.

“Put on a suit,” Tony says. “Look pretty. I’m going to find Pepper.”

Bucky enters the party with the distinct impression something’s going to go wrong.

It’s a party, after all.

He actually _did_ pack a suit because he knew what he was getting into, although it’s never been worn before.

It was a gift from his mother. She’d thought he was going up in the world, thought he was going to achieve great things. He’s never told her what he actually does. Bucky thinks that she'd love him either way, but he can't help the crushing guilt every time she tells her friends that he got some of the highest marks in his class. Either way, it’s a good suit. Dark blue, hides his weapons pretty well.

A waitress offers him a glass of champagne and he takes it to be polite, scans around for Tony.

It’s easy enough to spot him - Tony’s short, but his wings stand out among the mottled browns and greys of everyone else. The rainbow sheen is strong tonight; he must’ve put some kind of oil on it before he left. It’s breath-taking. Bucky feels like he’s fifteen and at his school’s prom all of a sudden, especially when Tony turns slightly and meets his gaze.

God, but he’s pretty.

What would it be like, taking him to a real dance? Getting to kiss him without it being for show? Unbuttoning his suit, touching the bare skin underneath, sliding down onto his knees in the bathroom and-

Bucky realizes a second later that Tony’s alone and snaps out of it as he approaches. “Where’s Clint?”

“Pepper insisted on finding him something to wear,” Tony replies with a shrug. “He’ll be along in a second.”

“What if something had happened?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it. You actually clean up pretty well, Barnes,” Tony says as his eyes roam up and down Bucky’s body. It’s intense enough that it feels almost like a physical touch and Bucky’s got to hold back a shiver as Tony’s eyes reach his face.

“Do I?” He tries to keep it flippant, disinterested. “You sound surprised.”

Tony smirks at that, just a little. “Pleasant surprise. To be totally honest with you, I was expecting you to look like - well, like _that_.”

Bucky turns around at Tony’s pointed finger and comes to a stop when he sees a disheveled, dismayed-looking Clint Barton sneaking around the crowds of people towards them. It looks like someone tried to beat him up between here and wherever he came from - and that analogy might be a little _too_ accurate, Bucky thinks as Clint gets closer and the blood dried on his lip is visible.

“What’d you do, Barton?”

“Tripped on the stairs and bit my lip on the way down,” Clint says glumly as Bucky fishes out his pocket square, hands it over so Clint can dab at his mouth.

“You come out on top? Beat up the nasty stairs?”

“Don’t I always?”

“You didn’t come out on top of getting _dressed_ ,” Tony remarks. “Did the stairs steal your iron as well? Look at these creases.”

Tony steps in close, reaches up to straighten Clint’s shirt collar.

Clint looks startled by this - Bucky’s a little surprised too, because it’s gentle and oddly tender for two people that were complete strangers a few days ago. Despite Clint's efforts, he'd assumed that Tony wouldn't be interested. Maybe he was wrong about it. There's a flicker of warmth in Tony's eyes, although his expression isn't giving anything away. It's kind of sweet.

“Where’d your tie go?”

“I can’t tie a tie,” Clint grumbles. “It always looks wrong.”

Tony sighs and leaves a couple of buttons undone, carefully folds the shirt so there’s a sliver of tanned skin visible and the tiny silver spider Clint always wears. It looks - disproportionately attractive, if Bucky’s honest with himself, and he sort of wants to _lick_ Clint. He doesn’t, but it’s certainly a new look. He’s only ever seen Clint in his combat gear before.

This is testing his self-control.

“Mister Stark, I- oh,” an older woman says, pushes her way into their circle and then just stares at Clint for a few seconds. At least it’s not just him.

“My associate, Mister Barton,” Tony says smoothly. “He’s available for a dance, if you’d like.”

Bucky’s almost disappointed when Clint’s dragged off but then Tony looks at him with dark eyes, offers his hand out.

Oh yeah, they should probably put on a show for people. Pretend to be romantic, and all that.

Pretend.

“What’s on today, Tones?”

“No prior engagements,” Tony says, sitting on the couch. He hasn’t even bothered to button up his shirt and there’s a soft white glow from his chest, bright against the early-morning shadows. “We’re taking a rest day.”

“You don’t have rest days,” Bucky says doubtfully.

“Point taken. I’m having a day that isn’t about working on anything except for you two idiots, then,” Tony corrects with a roll of his eyes. Then he waves his arm to get Clint’s attention - already figured out that his hearing’s not great, interesting - and points at the space between his legs. “Sit.”

Clint looks puzzled by the order but he drops down into the spot anyway, back to Tony. His shoulders are almost too wide for the move and his wings are even worse, sprawled out over Tony’s legs and onto the floor and couch as well.

Bucky’s puzzled by it too, doesn’t understand what Tony’s plan is until fingers card gentle through the messy feathers, straightening some of them out with single-minded determination. It’s strange enough that Bucky’s caught watching; Clint doesn’t appear to be concerned with the intimacy of the act - it’s _Clint_ \- and he leans back into the touch, eyes slipping shut.

If Clint could purr he’d be doing it now, probably.

Bucky tucks his own wings tighter against himself and watches them.

Clint’s nearly asleep now, making low noises in the back of his throat when Tony finds the good spots. His wings have always been a mess, as far as Bucky remembers; it’s gotta be as alien to him as it is to Bucky, but he’s melting into it anyway.

Bucky’s never watched those videos about wing grooming; they’d felt patronizing when he was a kid, and later on it hadn’t felt like there’d been any point, but now he gets why people are so fixated on it. It’s not so much the act itself than it is the _trust_ involved, because wings are delicate and so, so breakable under the wrong hands, and it requires all the attention the groomer can give.

Bucky’s fingers feel itchy, all of a sudden.

He blinks slow and suddenly the sunlight’s turned to a soft afternoon glow, and Tony’s letting go of Clint in favour of whistling for the nearby robot to start sweeping up the piles of feathers littered around the room. There's a lot of them.

Clint looks like he’s going to complain about the lack of touching and then he seems to catch himself, makes a puzzled face as he shakes his wings out and stands up.

Bucky’s still tucked into his corner of the couch.

“Huh,” Clint says, trying to twist around to look at his wings. “Didn’t realize it’d feel that different. Thanks.”

“Someone’s got to help you two hopeless cases,” Tony says. It doesn’t have any more inflection than anything else he’d say, but there’s something telling in the slight curl of his lips.

“I think I need a nap now,” Clint remarks, turns his satisfied gaze onto Bucky with a knowing curl to his lips. “You should definitely try that, it’s fantastic.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky says, doesn’t commit to anything.

He’s surprised by how much he _wants_ , though, tucks his wings tighter against his back until it aches.

"You're not napping in my vents," Tony says. "Bed's down the hall."

“Hey,” Clint says, drops down into Bucky’s lap and kisses him without any warning. He’s always been a little abrupt with his seduction (one particularly memorable time he’d appeared out of a manhole as Bucky was walking past) and Bucky’s gotten used to it enough that he just curls his hands over Clint’s leather-clad thighs and kisses back.

It’s a mistake - Bucky’s expecting a _hello_ kind of kiss, just a quick press of lips before they get back to business. Instead it’s wet and sizzling hot right off the bat, Clint’s teeth against his lip and tongue in his mouth. He’s barely able to catch up with that and then Clint’s ass is grinding slow against his dick too, enough that Bucky’s gotta tear himself away just to breathe through the wave of arousal.

“Tony’s in the bath,” he hisses.

The bathroom door is _right there_.

“I know,” Clint says, like Bucky’s silly for even bringing it up. “He’s listening to music.”

That makes it _slightly_ better, but he’s still proposing sex in the room next to Bucky’s employer, _on_ said employer’s bed. What if Tony _does_ hear them? How’s he supposed to explain that Clint’s impulse control is almost zero, and that he’s hot enough that Bucky lets him get away with it.

Clint’s hot enough that he manages to get Bucky’s jacket off, and then his shirt and all three of his guns onto the floor with ease. His _mouth_ , god. Bucky’s glad he was already sitting on the bed because his knees feel like jelly when Clint presses careful kisses to his neck, to the join of metal and skin on his shoulder.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky breathes when Clint’s fingers cup the tent in his pants.

“Careful,” Clint says quietly. “Someone might hear.”

“Dammit, Barton.”

“Shh,” is the reply he gets.

Good god.

“You couldn’t find somewhere else to do that? Was the elevator busy or something?”

“Shit,” Bucky says, feels his face catch fire as Tony’s eyes roam over him. It’s gotta be obvious how turned on he is right now. He tries to escape automatically, maybe jump for the window to his left as he becomes increasingly mortified over how fucking unprofessional this is. Tony had been pissed when they’d done it in the elevator; what’s he going to think about _this_?

Clint doesn’t let him leave. Struggling doesn’t help - he could probably escape if he really wanted to, but it’d mean hurting Clint and he can’t do that. Bucky can’t help wondering what the fuck his plan is here though. Is it some kind of a territorial thing? Clint doesn’t strike him as the type.

“Figure I owe you a thank you for the grooming,” Clint reasons, keeps pushing his fingers into Bucky’s lube-slick hole, his other hand sliding up to tweak at a nipple. “And what better way than to give you something you want?”

Tony’s wearing a luxurious-looking white bathrobe and nothing else, the hem barely covering his thighs.

_Bucky’s_ the one that feels exposed though, spread out on the bed like he’s on display. There’s so much lube that everything’s wet and slippery, even the million-dollar sheets, and Bucky’s so turned on and so goddamn embarrassed. A pretty picture, just for Tony. The squirming in his stomach is back.

“I don’t-” Tony starts.

“Come _on_ ,” Clint says, cutting him off. “You’ve been mooning at each other the whole time I’ve been here. You want it, he wants it. Why’s it hurt to be honest?”

Tony just looks at him with a raised eyebrow and Clint sighs. “Bucky. Tell Tony you want him.”

“I,” Bucky says, hesitates. This is a _lot_. What if Clint’s got it all wrong and Tony doesn’t want this? What if _Bucky_ can’t handle someone else’s hands on him like that? It’s nerve-wracking enough having to shift his wings so he’s not smacking Clint in the face with them.

Tony looks him up and down one more time, slow like he’s committing it to memory before he meets Bucky’s eye again. “Do you?”

Bucky swallows hard, lets his legs fall open a little wider. His dick’s impressively hard and it twitches against his stomach when Bucky moves, a bead of precum welling at the tip.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, I do.”

Tony’s eyes are dark and wide, so visibly _hungry_ it feels like it’s burning his skin. He’s bare to that stare, exposed to it as warmth blooms across his skin and Clint’s chest presses against his back, solid enough that Bucky melts back into him.

“You like watching, Stark?”

Tony doesn’t answer at first, and a gasp slips out of Bucky as Clint pushes in a third finger. It doesn’t quite burn - Clint’s too thorough for that, but the stretch has him arching against Clint’s body, feet sliding against the sheets. That’s what knocks Tony into motion, and he watches as the robe is discarded to the side without a second look.

“I like _doing_ ,” Tony says, getting on the bed and into the space between Bucky’s legs. He’s close enough that Bucky can feel the heat of him on his own thighs. His whole body is tingling.

“Doing’s good,” Clint agrees.

Bucky’s not prepared for the fingers inside of him to slip out and he’s even _less_ ready for Tony’s dick to replace it in one smooth movement. Tony’s got that look on his face that he wears when he’s working in the basement and that combined with his dick is _way_ too intense for Bucky. He feels like he’s touching a live wire, like he’s been struck by lightning, hot electricity in his veins as Tony claims his mouth in a kiss.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Clint says, breath hot against Bucky’s ear. “How’s it feel, finally letting him fill you up? Finally getting that dick inside you?”

“’s good,” Bucky manages to answer, the words buzzing against Tony’s soft lips and scratchy facial hair. God, he’s so wet. Was Clint trying to recreate Noah’s flood with lube? “Shit, _Tony_.”

“I kind of expected you to be more bossy,” Tony says, voice rougher than Bucky’s ever heard it. It's quiet, though. Reverent, almost. “Didn’t think you’d take it this well.”

“He likes people taking care of him,” Clint offers. “Likes it when you treat him nice.”

“Yeah? You want me to treat you nice, James?”

“Oh fuck,” Bucky breathes. 

Clint’s hand wraps around his dick, starts jerking him off in time with Tony’s fucking. This is how Bucky’s going to die. Right here, sandwiched between his assassin lover and his employer - it sounds so bad when he phrases it like that, but god _damn_ does it feel good in the moment.

Tony’s not gentle _exactly_ but he’s agonizingly thorough, pushing in so deep it aches with every thrust, his fingers curling around the back of Bucky’s thigh to push his legs wider. The strain makes Bucky shake and the pleasure makes it worse.

Tony leans back a little and he’s looking, he’s watching every thrust of his dick inside Bucky’s body and he’s watching Bucky’s body take him in. Bucky can’t speak, he can’t breathe - every sharp inhale feels void of oxygen and he’s gone for it, it’s so fucking good. Bucky turns his head and Clint’s right there and Bucky whines into his mouth, feels a wet patch against his spine where Clint’s cock is leaking.

It’s building up too much at once and Bucky doesn’t even have the chance to warn them before he’s shuddering and coming all over his own stomach and Clint’s fingers, eyelids fluttering shut as spots dance across his vision. It rolls over him in an overwhelming wave, and neither of them stop, they don’t _stop_ and he’s going to lose his mind.

“Too much?” Tony checks.

“Yes,” Bucky croaks.

“He means keep going,” Clint says, and Bucky doesn’t dispute it.

“What _is_ this thing we're doing?”

“You’re asking me?”

“You’re the one who lured us into a threesome,” Bucky says, piling the boxes of food into Clint’s waiting arms. The delivery woman smiles at them oddly - fair, considering Clint’s wearing his combat gear again. At least it’s mostly purple, so it looks like more of a costume than an assassin’s garb. “What _was_ your plan there, anyway?”

“Figured I’d do you a solid,” Clint says as Bucky takes the small case of beer and turns towards the elevator. “That’s what you do for the guy you like, right? Anyway, I’m signing up for him to fuck me next, that looked fantastic.”

“It really was,” Bucky admits.

“I’m not a toy for you two to play with,” Tony’s voice echoes through the elevator, but he sounds more amused than pissed off.

“I mean, I was proposing something more serious,” Clint tells the ceiling with a wry little smile. He’s never hinted to Bucky that he’s _wanted_ something more serious before, and this is new information. It’s _good_ information, but it’s still a little surprising to hear it out loud. “I get it if this is just a Bucky thing for you, though.”

“I don’t think we’d get anywhere if it wasn’t for you,” Tony says. “And besides, your ass is… pretty nice.”

“Hell yeah it is,” Clint says, grins. “Buck?”

“I’m - this is happening?”

“Sure,” Tony says. “Two real bodyguard boyfriends is better than one fake, right? Not that anyone’s actually tried to murder me yet.”

“Weird, isn’t it,” Bucky mulls, and then he sees the guilty look on Clint’s face.

Oh, jeez.

“Actually I, ah,” Clint says. “I was paid fifty thousand to shoot you in the skull?”

Tony’s outrage is audible over the speakers. “Only _fifty thousand?_ ”

“I feel like that’s not the problematic part of that sentence,” Bucky says. “Why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

“You told me to never say anything about the people I’m gonna murder because then you’ve got plausible deniability,” Clint reasons, something between an apologetic and an affectionate look on his face. “I don’t fuck with your jobs. If they give me one of yours, I usually just demand the pay upfront and then piss off.”

Bucky… kind of wants to kiss him for that. It’s cute, even if it is supremely fucked up. They’ve got other problems, though. “Who paid you?”

“Some bald guy. I don’t know, I forget names. I didn't even realize Tony was Tony at first.”

“A bald guy?”

Wait. “ _Stane_. Tony, where’s-”

There’s an alarming screech and a clank and then the elevator goes dark, grinding to a halt. It knocks Bucky off balance and he crashes into Clint on his way down to the floor. Something makes a worrying _snap_ in his earand Bucky’s blood goes ice-cold as Tony shouts their names and static crackles loud over the speakers.

Bucky pushes himself up with some effort, tries to locate something other than feathers in the elevator with him. “Clint?”

“Urgh.”

“ _Clint!_ Fuck, Tony!”

No reply from the speakers. The body under him shifts and groans though, and Bucky makes himself breathe again as Clint sits up and nearly bangs their foreheads together.

“I think I landed on my bow,” Clint says dismally, which explains the snapping noise. Thank god it wasn’t his bones.

“We’ve got to get to Tony,” Bucky says urgently. “JARVIS?”

Static. Fuck.

“I can boost you out of the elevator hatch,” Clint says. “You can prise open a door with your metal hand. Get down there, I’m gonna try and get the elevator going again.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, takes a breath to steady himself. Stane must’ve been watching them; must’ve known they were out of the room and taken the opportunity to sneak in. Shutting down the elevator while they were in it was calculated. _Fuck_. He plants one foot on Clint’s shoulder, finds the hatch by touch alone. What if he’s too late?

Stupid. Why’d he let his guard down?

Now he’s going to have to explain why he couldn’t just do his job to the police, and then they’ll find out he’s AWOL and send him back to the Army, and - oh, fuck, Tony’s going to be murdered. He can’t let Stane murder Tony.

The doors to the floor above Tony’s basement - why does this place have more than one basement? - open with a screech and Bucky yanks himself up the space, rolls to his feet and pulls the gun out of his waistband. He can hear Clint swearing loud and brash and he agrees wholeheartedly with that. He’s never been on this floor but he memorized the building plan on his first day, and he finds the stairs easily and takes them two at a time, heart in his throat.

What’s he gonna do if Tony dies?

He doesn’t even make an attempt to open the solid door at the bottom of the stairs. Instead he just crashes into it as hard as he can, and it jars his shoulder but his left arm is strong enough that the hinges crack off and the door falls to the ground, and he swings his gun up just in time to see a flash of searing white light from inside the workshop.

He’s too late.

When Bucky blinks the spots away from his eyes though, it’s to see Stane lying on the floor with a hole burned through his chest and a pale, wide-eyed Tony with a red and gold gauntlet on his right hand.

“Guess I didn’t need a bodyguard after all,” Tony says, looking at his own hand. “JARVIS, can you call… whoever takes away the corpses, thanks.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky says with feeling.

It’s probably not the time, but he’s gotta kiss Tony anyway, cup his face gently and try and shield him from the sight of the burned, hollow corpse as much as he can.

“Hey, Bucky,” the security guard says. “Go right through. And I took your other weapons up to Mister Stark’s penthouse, they’re all accounted for.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies, offers a brief flicker of a smile before he keeps walking. He’s pretty sure he still makes the guy nervous, but the security guys seem to appreciate him and Clint finding the gaps in their cameras, so it works out.

No one bothers him on his way through the building until he sees the woman from Tony’s party who’d been drooling all over him. The wave of dread that washes over him is almost as bad as it was in the broken elevator, and for a second he considers diving behind a couch so she doesn’t spot him. It’s too late, though, she’s already turned around.

“Hello, James!”

She practically _bounds_ towards him and Bucky takes a subtle step away from her. It’s not far enough - she puts one hand on his chest like she’s feeling him up. Good luck to her, through all the tac gear he’s wearing right now.

She must realize it’s not working, looks him up and down puzzledly.

“Where’s your lovely little artist outfit? All this black, it’s not quite as cute.”

“Look, lady. Touch me again and I take off your fingers,” Bucky says with relish, shrugs her off and opens the door to the staircase. Oh, blessed staircase. He’s going up here more often. There’s been enough drama in the elevator for at least three lifetimes, if not more.

Clint’s waiting for him when he gets to the top, and he’s in _sweatpants_ of all things. “Hey. Looking good, Bucko.”

“I feel normal again,” Bucky confesses as they head towards the main room. “How the hell do people enjoy life when they’re not wearing protective clothing?”

“They’re thinking the same thing about you and your Hot Topic stuff, buddy,” Clint replies. “Personally, I’m enjoying the break.”

Bucky frowns at him, but he remains blissfully oblivious. Hot Topic. What a dick.

Tony swivels around in his chair when they walk in and he’s dressed in his dirty mechanic garb again, wings catching the morning sunlight, and it feels like Bucky’s seeing him for the first time all over again. There’s still shadows under his eyes, but they’re nowhere near as bad as they were the first couple of days after Stane. Clint wanders past him, sprawls out in an armchair like he belongs there.

“What’d you text us both for, anyway? Should I be worried?”

“Nah,” Bucky says, sits down on Tony’s stupid white couch and ignores the raised eyebrows. “No worry.”

He takes a deep breath and lets his wings spread out along the couch, bites back the part of his brain that screams _exposed, bad, unprotected_. He’s fine. He’s safe with these two, no matter what his brain’s been telling him ever since he lost the arm.

“I want help with these,” he says, watches the delighted little smile edge onto Tony’s face at the admission.


End file.
